


if you're still breathing

by mandyfuckinmilkovich



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/M, Gallavich Week, M/M, Tumblr Fic, abuse tw, domestic abuse tw, mentions of blood and bruises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 13:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1820848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandyfuckinmilkovich/pseuds/mandyfuckinmilkovich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You can make anything disappear," mom always told her, stroking her cheek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you're still breathing

**Author's Note:**

> Gallavich Week Day 3 Prompt: Jealousy. Other people being jealous of them. This is from Mandy’s pov and I’ve never written from her pov so please tell me if it’s wrong or if it doesn’t make sense. If it doesn’t count for the week as well, I apologize. It’s almost 3k lmfao.
> 
> Triggers: mentions of domestic abuse, violence, blood, bruises.

"Please don’t hate me," Ian pleads with her, her hands held in his tightly, his eyes on her face, but far away at the same time. She knows he’s not with her, he’s back in the house, in Mickey’s room. With Mickey and Mickey’s ring and Mickey’s new wife and Mickey’s bullshit.

"I don’t hate _you_.” And she doesn’t. Not really. She hates a lot of people, a lot of things. Her dad. Her brother. Lip. Herself. Weddings and alcohol and babies and armies.

But never Ian.

She looks down at their hands, at his long fingers curled around her shorter, thinner ones. She pictures them with Mickey’s, she pictures them holding Mickey’s, touching Mickey’s. 

She doesn’t hate him. She doesn’t, doesn’t, doesn’t.

"I love you Mandy."

He does and he doesn’t. Not in the way she used to want him to. Maybe even still does. A little bit.

She squeezes his hands and tries to bring him to here and now, to her. It doesn’t work though. He’s still back there, probably back further than Mickey’s room. She’s competing with ghosts. She knows who will win.

//

Ian leaves and Lip leaves soon after him and Kenyatta moves in. A routine is established. They fuck and she makes food and then he goes to work and he comes home and she makes food again and they fuck.

She feels an emptiness creep up inside her, growing and growing every day. It’s not ugly, it’s not angry. It’s just there. She ignores it like everyone ignores her.

She doesn’t go back to school, Mickey doesn’t look at her across the breakfast table. They have matching dark shadows under their eyes. It’s not enough. She doesn’t just want him to have sleepless nights. At the same time, she wonders if he even deserves them.

//

He doesn’t.

//

Ian texts her six weeks later, a jumbled mess of words on her screen, letting her know he skipped out on the army and was back in town and didn’t want to see anyone yet. But that he was fine. He was doing fine and was with good people. People she’d like.

She flips her phone closed and that night, she can’t eat anything, noticing Mickey’s not wearing his ring anymore.

//

"Who was at the door?"

"Debbie Gallagher."

"What did she want?"

"She was looking for Ian."

"Seen him?"

"Why do you care?"

"Don’t."

//

Ian did tell her once. About him. About the guy he was fucking. About how they fought and made up, fought and made up, how most of that was Ian’s fault. About how Ian missed him when he was gone. About how it was better than anyone or anything when they were okay again.

"It’s like the best high," Ian told her one night, one drunk night in the middle of the summer. They were under the tracks, passing a bottle back and forth, and Mandy was bitching about Lip and summer school and Ian’d been silent, drinking and taking it all in.

"It’s like finding something you didn’t even know was lost."

Mandy had just stared at him, her eyes glazed over, mouth slowly going fuzzy and turning his words over and over in her head. She’s never had that. Never felt that. Didn’t think it was possible and Ian, he’s just so. So fucking sentimental sometimes. And over a guy too.

She’d snorted and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"Shut the fuck up. You assholes aren’t worth this shit."

He laughed with her, played with her hair, watched the trains go by. They finish the bottle and Mandy’s feeling pleasantly tired and heavy, almost laying on top of Ian.

"It’s like," his voice cut through the haze and she blinked heavily, trying to pay attention. "It’s like I’m missing half of myself."

//

Her cleavage gets her the job at the Waffle Cottage. She apologizes for being late, adjusts her shirt, feels Lip’s come still inside her. Her hand still hurts from punching him, her head still spins from what happened between them. She promises herself to stop at the pharmacy on the way home. She texts Ian a picture of her hat with the squirrel on top, makes a joke about nuts and gay guys, and doesn’t get a response.

//

She doesn't have to wonder what kind of mother she'd be. She lies on her back, Kenyatta next to her, her hands resting on her flat stomach. Neglectful. Mean. She wouldn't know how to love it. She doesn't even know how to love herself.

//

She’s been working there a week when Mickey drops in, orders coffee at the counter and shreds a napkin in front of him. It’s slow enough, he’s the only customer in her section and he orders refill after refill.

"How’s it going here?" He speaks quietly, softly, and Mandy leans her elbows on the counter, leaning in.

"Good." She shrugs. "Some of the customers are fucking gross and get a little handsy but they tip really well when I play along."

"Where’s your boyfriend?"

"Where’s yours?"

He looks down at the bits of napkin, silent and biting his lip and Mandy cheers herself on in her head, having got one up on him.

He nudges his cup closer to her and she fills it up again. He sucks it down black, frown in place, rubbing his eyes, the shadows underneath stronger than ever.

She hates him, looking for all the world the lost one, the betrayed one.

The one missing half of himself.

Piece of shit.

"I didn’t think you’d end up here," Mickey looks blearily around the diner, hunching his shoulders and grabbing another napkin to destroy.

"It’s fine." It is. And fuck him for thinking it isn’t.

Mickey nods and says he knows. “It’s just. We thought you’d be the one. Out of all of us. The one to make it. Graduate and shit. Get the fuck out of here. We wanted you to.”

There’s a rushing in her ears and she feels dizzy, rooted where she stands.

"We wanted you to be happy." He squeezes her arm slightly, tosses a few bills on the counter, more than enough to cover 4 refills, and leaves, the bell ringing above the door.

Mandy stands there, staring at his empty spot, the diner slowly filling up around her.

//

The first time it happens, it’s a mistake. An accident. Kenyatta holds her face and wipes her tears away and promises it won’t happen again. She just can’t say shit like that to him, she knows how it upsets him. She nods and hugs him close and promises. She does her best to hide the shaking in her hands.

She does her best to hide the bruise on her cheek. It’s a little one, thank fuck. She uses powder to lighten it, remembers mom showing her the exact same thing years ago in the same bathroom.

"You can make anything disappear," mom always told her, stroking her cheek. And while Mandy was never sure about that, what her mom did was like magic. A split lip blended in with the right lipstick. A bruise could be covered with the right combination of concealer and powder.

She stands in the spot her mother used to and goes to work, making it disappear. The ache in her chest grows, the edges turning jagged and raw.

//

"I was happy." Her voice is slurring and her legs are in Mickey’s lap. He’s smoking and wearing her hat sideways, the squirrel staring down at her. She wants to kick it in it’s fucking beady little eyes.

"I mean, Mick. Mick. Mickey."

He taps his fingers against her legs and hums in response, smoke escaping his nose.

"I thought I was happy. I thought Lip was happy. I thought Ian was happy. But. We weren’t were we? None of us were. None of it was fuckin anything to be happy about."

She’s out of breath and drunk and her cheek hurts, the bruise underneath her makeup.

She reaches for the whiskey, drops the bottle and it splashes on the coffee table and the couch.

"Shit fuck cock sucker." She grabs the bottle and the blanket off the end of the couch and dabs at the wet spots, Mickey still in his place on the couch.

The whole house is quiet, just the two of them home, Kenyatta and Svetlana at work and Terry locked up and their brothers gone. She pulls the blanket around her, cradling the whiskey and staring up at the ceiling.

"I was. Happy I mean," Mickey says quietly. Mandy doesn’t look at him, her eyes stinging and wet and she blinks rapidly.

"Then what the fuck happened?" Her voice is choked and all she can see is Ian in front of her, scared and lost and so alone, Mandy unable to touch him because she’s not what he needs.

Mickey doesn’t answer but she hears a sniffle and doesn’t know if it’s from her or him. She’s not what Ian needs. She’s not what Mickey needs. She’s not what any of them need.

//

It happens again. Kenyatta apologizes again. Mandy covers it up again. She almost tells Ian, almost begs him to come home, to come back, to come back to her. Every time she hangs up, deletes the text, reaches for the vodka.

She doesn’t want to do that to Ian. He’s trying and searching for whatever it is he needs. He doesn’t need her bullshit life dragging him back. 

She feels herself disappearing little by little.

//

Ian is. Different. When he comes back. So is Mickey. It’s like Ian is all he can see. And Ian. Ian is firmly in the present, firmly in the now, firmly with Mickey.

They basically live together. Where Ian is, Mickey’s there too. And vice versa. The shadows leave her brother’s face and Ian is just happy.

Mickey’s not a ghost anymore for Ian.

And there was never any competition in the first place.

//

Ian shows up at the Waffle Cottage, grin in place, flicking the squirrel on top of her head.

"Do you have to wear that everyday?"

She adjusts her hat, shooting him a sly grin. “Why, you wanna borrow it? Got a woodland creatures theme at work later?”

The glare she receives is so familiar and she feels like she just met him again, like they should be holding hands on the swings again and not here. Not been through what they have.

Mandy sneaks him freebies in coffee refills and sides of toast and bacon. She rushes through her other tables and customers and gets shit tips for it, but once they’re all gone and cleared, she grabs a cup and sits with Ian, drinking shitty coffee and asking him how he is.

"You stopped texting me dumbass."

"I know. I… I’m sorry. I was just. I needed to be away for awhile."

Mandy nods and sips her coffee, the bitter taste lingering. They’re quiet, Ian picking at the crust of the toast, Mandy clinking her fingernails against the cup.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Everything’s just. Different now. Gotta get used to it."

"You mean Mickey?"

"Mickey. Being home. Even you. You’re different."

She laughs. “No. I’m not.”

"You are." Ian nods, eyes searching her face briefly before blinking and he’s gone again. "You’re different and I want to know about it. What’s been going on?"

Her chest feels tight and she looks down at the table, her breathing loud in her ears. What’s been going on?

She almost tells him. She almost tells him about the fists and arguments and how much concealer she’s already used this month and how she can go almost a week without saying a word to anyone or anyone saying a word to her and how she feels like she’s not even there, not even drinking coffee with Ian because he’s not even there, he’s not there and he cares but he doesn’t care. He’s with Mickey, he’s at the Alibi, he’s in Mickey’s room, he’s in his own bed, he’s not there with her. She can make anything disappear. Even herself.

"Nothing, look I gotta get back." She hugs him tight and escapes to the kitchen, the rattle of dishes and sounds of washing and stacking drowning out her gasping breaths.

//

She’s drunk again and Mickey’s carrying her home, letting her stumble along next to him, his arm steady and tight around her waist.

"Who knew it’d be you." She’s laughing and breathless and colors are flashing before her eyes while Mickey guides her home.

"The fuck you talking about?" Mickey’s amused and she hates him but she loves him. He did the impossible. He did what she was never able to do. And she had two shots at it.

"You." 

"Me. Okay. Me. What the fuck about me?"

They’re stumbling up the steps to the porch and Mickey’s fumbling around in her purse for her keys.

"You. And Ian." He pauses at Ian’s name, and she swallows through a tight throat. "Who knew you’d be the one out of all of us. To end up with… with one of them."

Mickey’s eyes are so wide and clear, looking at her with a tilted head, like he’s sorry, like he’s so sorry for it.

"Does he make you happy? Like before?"

"Yeah." He doesn’t even hesitate, sticking the key in the lock and dragging her inside, depositing her on the couch and getting her a glass of water.

He doesn’t hesitate. It’s simple. Loving Ian is so easy. She wishes it wasn’t.

//

With one hand, Mickey holds the ice pack against her lip and dials Ian’s number with the other.

Her mouth is numb, she can’t even think about what her cheek looks and feels like, and her hands won’t stop shaking.

"I need your help." Mickey speaks softly into the phone, adjusting the ice pack and holding her head. She’s sitting on the toilet, Mickey perched on the side of the tub and she can’t help thinking history is repeating, she can’t believe this is her life.

Ian shows up, his mouth in a thin line and he gets to work tossing her stuff in a bag, anything and everything he can find. Shoes, her work uniform, her toothbrush and deodorant. He talks to them through the walls and as he runs up and down the hallway, talks about what they’ll have for dinner, maybe take out, maybe he can find something to make at his house, and then they’ll set her up in Lip’s room and then they’ll help her get back on her feet.

"You can start fresh. We’ll help you, I promise."

She feels her face change, scrunching up, like it used to when she was a kid and Terry would yell at her and her mom would be passed out on the couch. Mickey brings her hand up to hold the ice pack and he leaves the bathroom as she takes the first shuddering breath, her ribs trembling, her whole body shaking. The ache inside of her opening wider and wider. She doesn’t know how to start over, how to do anything else but what she’s doing. Tears fall down her cheeks, fast and warm and she swipes at them desperately.

She hears Mickey and Ian speaking quietly and looks up, seeing them across the hall. Mickey’s shaking his head, looking down at the floor and Ian’s leaning down so he can look Mickey in the eye. He places a finger under Mickey’s chin and lifts, their foreheads touching.

When they were kids, Mickey always took the most of what Terry did to them. He always took the fall when he could, he always told her to run, to get out of there. He could never cover the bruises as easily as their mom. As easily as Mandy.

Ian kisses Mickey’s mouth gently and Mandy looks away, the ice melting through the bag and wetting her hands.

She sits there in the bathroom, crying silently, in the same place her mother did. Mickey comes back, his eyes bright and shining, and is gentle with her, holds her arm and brushes her hair out of her face. They take the car, Mandy sitting in the back seat, Mickey driving, Ian up front next to him.

They’re all silent on the way to Ian’s house, the radio on low. Ian looks back at her every now and then, smiles and then he looks forward. He looks at Mickey. He reaches over and holds Mickey’s wrist and Mickey smiles at him. Says, “Thanks.”

Mandy bites her lip because they’re the lucky ones. They’re the ones who got tossed in the fire and came out better on the other side. Mickey doesn’t need to cover any of his bruises or marks and cuts. Ian doesn’t hurt him like that, would never be like that. Ian doesn’t need to make them disappear. Ian wants them, all of them. All of him. She feels something in her break and her eyes fill again.

She wants to hate them but she can’t. Can only be silent in the backseat, watching the city fly by.


End file.
